Chocolate glaze and sprinkles
by renrenren3
Summary: Even without his angel powers, Castiel can still perform small miracles for Dean.
1. Chocolate glaze and sprinkles

**Author's note: **This fic is set in that wonderful universe of mine where Sam is nowhere to be seen and human!Cas is following Dean in his life of monster hunting and angsting but also fluff. The chapters are mostly unrelated and they each feature a different food from a prompt table. So yeah, mindless Dean/Cas fluff ahoy.**  
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><p>"Dean", says Castiel's voice from some point above him.<p>

Dean's eyes slowly blink open and he struggles to get himself into a sitting position, flailing over the three pillows that Cas insisted on putting under his head last night. "Is it morning already?" he asks, his voice still scratchy.

"Yes," Castiel says. "How are you feeling?"

The answer is that Dean feels like crap. "Fine," he says instead, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Castiel sits down on the edge of the bed, and the mattress dips under his weight. "You don't look fine at all," he says, frowning. (Sometimes it bothers Dean, how good Castiel is getting at reading humans, but then again today Dean probably looks just as bad as he feels, sore and feverish and still shivering. He's getting too old to spend hours buried under a snowdrift in a frozen wasteland. Damn Bigfoots.) "You should rest," Cas says. "I brought you breakfast."

Dean looks at the greasy bag in Castiel's hands. It smells like sugary heaven, and Dean hasn't eaten in what feels like ages. When Castiel takes out a box of donuts, Dean feels as if he's witnessing a small miracle. He feels as if Castiel should glow with angelic grace, irradiating the small motel with magic and light and sparkles, but mostly donuts. Dean loves donuts

"Thanks," Dean says, taking a large paper cup from Castiel's hands. It's warm and feels wonderful against his skin. Coffee is just what he needs. However, when he takes a sip he almost gags.

"Dean, are you all right?" Castiel says, his voice dripping with concern as he leans forward to pat him on the back.

The coffee is thick, too sweet and chocolatey. Dean holds it at arm's length and peers suspiciously at it. "What's wrong with this coffee?" he says.

Castiel's face falls a bit. "It's not coffee, it's hot chocolate," he replies. "The girl in the coffee shop said that they were doing a promotion for Valentine's Day. She said it was delicious. Is it not delicious?"

He's got that look in his eyes, like he's afraid that he screwed up again. Dean can't stand to have Castiel looking like this, forever double-guessing himself, even though he's more than proved that he can fend for himself in the past few months. It was Cas that got him out of that snowdrift in the first place, damn it, he carried him back and nursed him like a (trenchcoat-wearing, rather scruffy) mother hen and brought him donuts in bed, and somehow he's still acting as if it's not enough, it's never enough, and it's never enough because he doesn't have the angel powers to heal Dean in a split second, even though it's not his fault and there's nothing he can do about it, even though the donuts alone are more than enough, and Dean doesn't know how to get him to understand.

Dean takes another sip. Now that he's not expecting coffee, the hot chocolate is actually good. Still a bit too sweet for his tastes, but it's not bad and it warms him up from the inside. "It is delicious," he says, and that gets him a smile from Castiel.

"I'm glad," Castiel says, handing him a donut. Dean eats it in three bites, getting chocolate glaze and sprinkles all over his fingers, and watches Castiel drink his own cup of hot chocolate in one long gulp. It leaves a thick brown mustache on his upper lip. "I was afraid that..."

"Cas," Dean cuts him off, "it's perfect."

It's almost worth getting buried under that snowdrift, just to see Castiel beaming like that at his words.


	2. Strawberry tarts and éclairs

Mrs Barrymore is the most fearsome person that Dean has ever met. She's almost eighty years old, white-haired and wrinkly, five feet tall, wears a lot of black gowns and floral shawls and, most importantly, is in possession of a very sturdy walking stick. So far she's used the stick against Dean four times: once when she figured out he and Cas weren't FBI agents, once when she caught them trying to sneak into her house, and twice while Dean was trying to explain about the poltergeist. It's the first time Dean was glad when the poltergeist showed up, because compared to Mrs Barrymore it was almost harmless.

It was Dean who had vanquished the sucker, but since Cas saved her cat it's him that the old harpy is thanking, while at the same time berating Dean for leaving chalk marks all over her nice clean floor.

"She's right, Dean," Cas says. "We made a mess of her house, we can't leave it like this."

They can, Dean thinks, but Cas is scratching Snowball behind the ears and Mrs Barrymore is smiling at him as if he was a long-lost grandson. "I knew that you weren't as bad as _that one_," Mrs Barrymore says, pointing in Dean's direction with her walking stick, and Dean hurries to find a mop and a bucket.

It takes them all the morning to clean the house, and then the best part of the afternoon to finish all the odd jobs that Mrs Barrymore suddenly remembers about. Dean has barely finished fixing a broken vacuum cleaner and she shows up with a tin of paint. The new paint is still drying in the kitchen and already she's barking orders about a wobbly table. There's no end to it.

"I wouldn't want to trouble you, but I was about to run to the store and the walkway is all covered with snow," she tells Castiel.

"No problem at all, Mrs Barrymore," Castiel replies, and Dean ends up knee-deep in the snow, shoveling away. "It's nice to feel helpful," Castiel tells Dean, his breath turning into white puffs.

Dean was under the impression that all they ever did was helping people, and the job they do is way more important than fixing an old cat lady's leaky pipes, but he bites his tongue and doesn't say anything, because Mrs Barrymore and her stick are within earshot.

As a thank you for having used them as unpaid house help all day, Mrs Barrymore offers them tea, though not before they've cleaned up and washed their hands. Dean doesn't even like tea, but it looks as if refusing is not an option. They sit side by side on a tiny sofa and Mrs Barrymore pours them two cups of something that looks like dirty water.

"This is nice," Cas says, taking a sip. "Thank you, Mrs Barrymore."

Dean stares at the cups, which are decorated with images of kittens frolicking in spring meadows and make him vaguely nauseous.

Mrs Barrymore smiles at Castiel. "Not at all, I'm very grateful for what you boys did, cleaning away the snow and fixing my vacuum cleaner and also getting rid of that nasty poltergeist," she tells him, and Dean's got this feeling that _'you boys'_ is only meant for Castiel and not him. "I've got you a little something, as a thank you."

For one glorious moment Dean thinks they're going to get paid, but instead the old lady hands Castiel a tray. "Help yourself, dearie," she says.

"You shouldn't have," Castiel complains, while Dean feels like banging his head against the coffee table. They've cleaned, fixed and exorcised the entire house in exchange for a cup of tea and half a dozen assorted pastries each.

Castiel looks at the pastries. "These all look delicious, I don't know which one I should start from," he says.

Dean has to admit that, okay, the pastries do look delicious. There's chocolate choux, cream puffs, some little shortcrust boats filled with strawberries and kiwis, and even a couple of éclairs. Lunch has been hours ago and he's starving, but when he tries to reach for the tray Mrs Barrymore swats his hand away.

"Wait for your turn," she scolds him. "There's enough for both."

"Why is my turn after his?" Dean grumbles. He'd be fine with any pastry, too, while Cas seems to take forever to choose, hand hovering over the tray and frowning in concentration as if this is the most difficult decision ever. It took less time for Indiana Jones to pick the Holy Grail from all those other cups, Dean thinks.

After a very long time Cas takes one of the shortcrust boats, biting into the huge strawberry on top. "It's good," he says, a bit of juice dribbling at the corner of his mouth as he speaks. Mrs Barrymore beams at him and finally pushes the tray towards Dean.

Dean picks one of the éclairs and bites into it. It really is delicious, like an creamy chocolate explosion in his mouth. "'s very good," Dean agrees, stuffing as much éclair as he can into his mouth.

Mrs Barrymore swats at him again, though this time he sees it coming and dodges. "Don't talk with your mouth full," she says, and then offers Castiel another pastry. The double standard is really pissing Dean off, but he can live with it as long as there's food.

"So," Mrs Barrymore says, sipping her tea. "How long have you boys been... together?"

Dean almost chokes on his morsel and needs a moment to start breathing again. Next to him, Cas is completely oblivious.

"I've known Dean for about four years," Cas says, taking a small bite from a cream puff. "But we only started being together a few months ago." He means hunting monsters together, obviously, but before Dean can explain Mrs Barrymore gives him a thin smile.

"It's a serious affair, then," she says. "Me and the late Mr Barrymore were engaged for four years before marrying too, though it was a different time."

"We're not... we're not together _together_," Dean says, waving half an éclair between himself and Cas.

Mrs Barrymore tuts. "Now, now, there's no need to be like that," she says. "I'm old, but that doesn't mean I'm also old-fashioned and close-minded, I like to see happy young couples."

Castiel is still smiling, polite incomprehension written all over his face. Dean sighs and stuffs his mouth with pastries. They're never, ever, doing a case involving old ladies again.


	3. Fake cherry

The lollipop is cherry-flavored, according to the wrapping, though it's such a bright red color that it probably contains more artificial flavors than cherries. Castiel's lips are already stained with the same shade of red and from time to time he licks them absently while he turns the pages of the huge grimoire in front of him.

Dean can't stop staring at those lips.

"I think I found something," Cas says, looking up from whatever he was reading, and Dean jumps and tries to feign interest, leaning forward to read the paragraph that Cas is pointing at.

With their heads bowed together on the book, Dean can each and every slurping sound that Cas is making with his lollipop. If he didn't know that Cas isn't doing it on purpose, Dean would say that... well, he'd say that Cas is doing it on purpose. It's almost pornographic.

Finally even Cas can't help but notice that Dean is too busy staring to care about witches and cursed rings. "Do you want to taste it?" he asks, taking the lollipop from his mouth and holding it out for Dean.

The lollipop is still shiny with saliva. Dean doesn't want to, he shouldn't really, there's some things you just shouldn't do outside of kindergarten, but then again they're in their own room and there's nobody around to see. Castiel smiles and shakes the candy under Dean's nose, unaware of his inner conflict.

Dean takes the lollipop from Castiel's hand and slides his lips around it. It tastes like sugar and artificial cherry flavor, and a bit like Cas too.

"It's too sweet for my taste," Dean says, licking his lips, and he pretends not to see Castiel's amused little smile.


	4. Bolognese sauce and meatballs

At some point, Dean teaches Cas how to play pool. He doesn't mean to teach Cas how to pool hustle as well, not after what happened with poker, but somehow it just happens. They're in the back of the local watering hole and Dean has just finished showing Cas how to hold the cue when a couple of locals walk in, looking very annoyed at the sight of the occupied pool table.

Tonight must be Dean's lucky night, because they've been running out of cash and those two guys look like they're about to make a willing donation to the cause of poor needy hunters, especially the frowny one with designer clothes and tasteless ring. Dean tries not to grin too widely when he suggests that the four of them play a game. He figures it doesn't matter if Cas plays badly, the two strangers will only be goaded into betting more and then losing it all in the second or third game when Dean stops feigning incompetence and uses all of his skill.

The plan spectacularly fails to go as predicted when Cas starts pocketing one shot after the other. The two stooges are actually good at pool, Dean is a bit better, but Cas could best them all with one hand tied behind his back. It ends with the three of them standing to one side while Cas does trick shots, and Dean's mouth is too busy hanging open that he doesn't even think about goading the guys into betting more, though tall dark and loaded is more than happy to supply, going as far as betting five hudred dollars on a shot that Dean's fairly certain no man could pull off.

It's probably a good thing that Cas wasn't human to start with, then. He pulls it off. "Never seen anyone play so well in all of my life," the stranger says, handing over his money to Cas. When he and his friend leave the bar, Dean feels a bit like _he_'s the one being hustled because he's not sure of what just happened.

Cas looks puzzled as well. "Is it all right for them to give me all this money?" he asks.

For once, Dean doesn't need to lie. "You won it fair and square," he says, patting Cas on the back. And good thing that Cas did, too, because Dean was starting to worry that they wouldn't have enough gas to reach the next town. "Come on, let's get some dinner."

Since it's Castiel's money, Dean decides he's the one who should pick where to eat, figuring that Cas will pick a burger place because he's got an addiction to cheeseburgers. Instead Cas takes them to a small Italian restaurant that does homemade cooking. It's way fancier than what Dean is used to, but they can afford it and Cas is beaming at him and Dean sees no reason why they shouldn't be here.

The waitress takes them to a corner table covered with a checkered red-and-white tablecloth and sets a candle between them. "I hope you'll enjoy your evening," she tells them, and that's when Dean realizes what it must look like and why they shouldn't have chosen this place.

He's about to tell her that this is not a date, this is most definitely not a date, but Cas smiles and thanks her and she winks in return, and Dean buries his face into the menu and tries to make himself invisible.

"I'll have the spaghetti bolognese with meatballs," Castiel tells the waitress. "Dean? What about you?"

Dean is too busy with his private freakout to read the words floating in front of his eyes. "Er, the same for me," he manages.

"Good choice, very _Lady and the Tramp_," the girl says, jotting down the order, and Dean groans. He's never getting this one's number.

Castiel frowns. "Dean," he says after she's gone to deliver their order, "what's _Lady and the Tramp_?"

"It's a cartoon," Dean explains. "About two dogs." He's most definitely not going to mention that the two dogs are in love. Cas is still not getting the reference, so Dean racks his memory. "There's this scene where the two dogs go to the restaurant and they get spaghetti with meatballs," he says.

"I don't understand," Cas says. "How can dogs order food?"

Dean isn't sure either, but then again he's only seen the cartoon once or twice, years ago when Sammy was still very little. He shrugs. "I don't know, they just do. And then their waiter sings some song and they kiss, except they're dogs so it's not a kiss, they just bump their noses together."

Then he realizes what he's just said and gets flustered again, except this time he doesn't even have a menu to hide behind, so he pretends to be fascinated by the pattern on the tablecloth.

"Is that how dogs kiss?" Castiel asks.

"I don't know, dude," Dean mumbles. "It's just a stupid kids' cartoon."

It feels as if the waitress takes forever to get back with their food. Thankfully she doesn't break out into song and doesn't make any more Disney remarks, she just sets the food in front of them and says she hopes it's to their taste.

The spaghetti are actually very good, though maybe it's because Dean is so used to greasy diner food that anything else tastes good by comparison. Still, he wolves it down and forgets all about fictional dogs.

Castiel seems to have problems with the spaghetti. "They're good, but very hard to eat," he says, sucking on a particularly long piece of pasta that leaves a smear of sauce at the corner of his mouth.

"They're good," Dean agrees, and then he gives up. "Thanks for taking me here," he says, because what the hell. This is a date.

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><p><strong>Author's note:<strong> So the idea is that Cas is so good at pool because it's all about angles. Except it's such a lame pun I couldn't bring myself to actually write it into the story. Oh, and can you spot the very oblique reference to another fandom? Aside from the huuuge Disney one?


	5. Pink sugar and happiness

They're exorcising a carnival in Maryland this week, which means Dean is both amused and sad every time he thinks of Sam, even though his brother is better off now that he doesn't have murderous spirits trying to rip him apart. Still, Dean and Cas finally manage to get rid of the suckers and even prevent the carnival from being destroyed in the process, aside from a couple of stalls which burned down, but Dean thinks that overall it was a success.

As a thank you for saving everyone's asses, they get a couple of free tickets for the carnival rides. Dean pouts because they just put their life on the line and the carnies could have at least given them a day pass. Cas, on the other hand, is beside himself with glee. "Which one should we try first?" he says, looking at the tickets and then at the names of the rides. "Do you think we'll have time to try them all?"

"Dude, are you kidding? I'm so not going to try them all," Dean says, because they've been given tickets to the _carousel_ and he's sure as hell not riding the carousel at his age, it would look so creepy.

However, Castiel is not kidding. He looks like a child who has just been handed a stack of free tickets for carnival rides. As they're standing in line for the first ride (the rollercoaster, which Dean only moderately objects to) there's seven- and eight-years-old waiting with more patience than Cas. He fidgets around and cranes his head to follow the loops and twists of the tracks above their heads. When their turn comes, he needs help to pull down the security bar in front of him.

The ride is short and not very scary (at least not compared to last night's vengeful spirits trying to rip them apart) but Cas is grinning when they get off. "That was fun," he says, wobbling a bit and trying to regain his balance after having been shaken around. His hair is sticking up on his head even worse than usual.

"It was okay," Dean concedes. "Where to next?"

He shouldn't be having this much fun, Dean thinks, it's just a carnival. The rides are old, the paint is fading, they music on the speakers dates back to the 60s. But Castiel looks like he's having the time of his life, and somehow his enthusiasm is contagious. Usually Dean thinks that Castiel acts as a child, because there's no other way to describe the way Cas looks at the world, to describe how the most mundane things are beyond his comprehension. The truth of the matter, however, is that Castiel was never a child.

It's the first time ever that Castiel has been on a rollercoaster, Dean realizes. And it's the first time Castiel steps into a haunted house, the first time he plays a rigged game of throwing the hoop, the first time he rides the carousel. Dean absolutely refuses to go on the carousel, because there's nobody older than twelve on there, so Cas takes both tickets and goes twice, once on a rocketship and the other on a white horse. The second time he strikes up a conversation with the pigtail girl on the pink unicorn next to him.

Dean is sure that if he'd tried that he would have been arrested for suspicious behaviour, but the girl's mum just _aww_s and waves at them when they pass by. "Your friend is adorable," she tells Dean. "He looks as if he's never been on a carousel before."

"He hasn't," Dean says, leaning forward to rest his arms on the metal rails around the ride. "It's his honest to God first time on a carousel."

"Shut up!" the woman exclaims, laughing. "Where does he come from?"

"Not from around here, that's for sure," Dean says with a grin.

"That was fun," Castiel says, after the ride is over and he's waved goodbye to the girl with pigtails. "Though I liked the rocketship better than the horse."

They've run out of tickets and it's getting late, so even Cas admits it might be time for them to leave if they want to get to a motel before dark. Dean agrees, but on their way out they pass a cotton candy stall.

"You've never tried this before, either, haven't you?" he asks Cas.

Cas shakes his head, so Dean buys him a cotton candy from the wrinkled lady behind the stall and they both watch in fascination as she wraps the spun sugar around a stick to form a sticky pink tower.

With his first bite, Cas gets cotton candy all over his mouth and his nose. "This is good," Cas says. "But it's very sticky."

Dean nods and grins as he watches Castiel's attempts at eating without getting any cotton candy over himself. He knew Cas would like it.

Cas quickly figures out the best way to eat it by watching a couple of kids nearby, and soon enough he's breaking off small pieces with his fingers and stuffing them into his mouth. "Thanks, Dean," he mumbles around a particularly large mouthful.

"It's not a proper carnival without some cotton candy," Dean says.

"Here," the old lady says, handing Dean another pink tower of cotton candy.

He tries to refuse, saying he only bought one, but the lady smiles at him, a wrinkled toothless grin. "On the house," she says. "It's good to see young people enjoy themselves."

"Thank you," Dean mumbles, and he bites into the cotton candy. It tastes like sugar and a bit like happiness.


End file.
